


take it all, take all that i have (i'm never gonna leave this bed)

by speirstookmysoul (parjil)



Series: take it, take it all [2]
Category: Band of Brothers (TV 2001)
Genre: Developing Relationship, F/M, Oral Sex, Pining, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Rough Sex, Sex, Vaginal Sex, We are sinning in this Chili's tonight
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-22
Updated: 2021-01-22
Packaged: 2021-03-14 04:21:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28914528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/parjil/pseuds/speirstookmysoul
Summary: Ron found that he missed having your hands in his. Because your presence was a balm to the violence in his soul. Because he needed gentleness in his life. Because you made him burn as if he was Icarus too close to the sun. Like a moth drawn to a flame. It’s why he gave you the scarf, why he split his cigarette rations with you.He wanted you.
Relationships: Ronald Speirs/Reader, Ronald Speirs/You
Series: take it, take it all [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2132526
Comments: 2
Kudos: 14





	take it all, take all that i have (i'm never gonna leave this bed)

The convent was a welcome shelter. 

It was warm and the most comfortable thing anyone had been in for a long time. The sisters were welcoming, inviting them in with open arms and giving them warm food, blankets, and bowls of heated water to wash away grime and dirt. It was like being in a luxury hotel as far as anyone was concerned. The sisters had gathered up their choir and were going through what Ron assumed were warm-ups when he slipped back outside for a smoke. 

Speirs walked through Rachamps as he smoked. He poked his head into the buildings that had survived the battle. In one house, he found a scarf still hanging on a coat rack in an otherwise destroyed house. He picked it up, shaking the dust of rubble and snow off. 

It was a dark indigo color and made of wool. It was soft to the touch and about the length of his arm. 

He already had a scarf, something he had been given by a civilian when the 506th had passed through Bastogne. The locals there, too, had taken pity on the soldiers, the men coming to fight the Germans on their behalf and had scrounged or knitted scarves and caps for them. You’d lost yours when you used it as a tourniquet earlier in the day. With half an idea in his head, he walked briskly back to the convent wrapping the scarf haphazardly around his neck. Slipping inside, his face burned from the cold. He looked over the pews, spotting you running a loaned brush through your hair.

Speirs beckoned you over. You got up from your place in the pews after placing your helmet on your head, shuffling past the men you’d bonded with who were transfixed on the choir singing. 

“Sir?” You questioned when you reached him in the shadowed corner, candlelight reflecting dimly off the back of your helmet. Your face had been wiped clean of dirt with the bowls of water and the rags the sisters had provided. 

“I understand that you lost your scarf today.” He said. He carefully uncoiled the scarf from his neck and held it out to you, as if he was presenting a trophy for your approval. In a way, his mind whispered, he was. “Here.” 

You took up one end of the scarf, running your thumb over the stitches in an admiring manner. “It’s so soft,” You murmured. 

Speirs smiled, “And warm too. Let me…” 

He took it from you and wrapped the scarf around your neck carefully, pausing to resituate your helmet when it tilted down over your eyes. He made sure it was covering the exposed skin of your neck completely and was neatly tucked into your jacket. Your tongue peeked out, running over your lip as you looked up at him from under your helmet. His eyes followed the movement and he felt something curl in his belly, something warm that he knew was a desire to hold you and something dark that wanted to take all that you had with a selfish abandon. 

Once he was happy with how the scarf sat, he was reluctant to remove his hands but did so anyway; anything else was indecent with a woman. You adjusted the scarf so it sat comfortably under your chin. “It is warm.” You smiled up at him.

He noticed that your knuckles had cracked from the cold, small lines of your skin highlighted by scabs where the skin had broken open; the tips of your fingers were red still. He took your hands in his, marveling to himself how small they were. Your fingers were chilled. He cupped them, blowing warm air from his mouth and rubbing your hands between his to warm them.

Your fingers curled as you sighed quietly in relief as the cold slowly left your hands. He was careful near the tips of your fingers as they were slightly swollen and would likely hurt once warmth and feeling returned. There was still blood and dirt under your fingernails. You shuffled forward, instinctively seeking out more warmth from him. There was a haze in your eyes; he didn’t know if that was from the shadows and candlelight or something else. He shifted forward and Ron breathed deeply. 

That broke you from the daze you’d gone into. You realized just how close you stood to him and stepped an appropriate distance back, carefully pulling your hands away with no small amount of reluctance. 

Ron found that he missed having your hands in his. You were still looking up at him from under your helmet, something he didn’t know still in your eyes when someone called your name and you turned away with a mumbled ‘thank you’.

He found that he ached with you no longer in his orbit.

You were asleep when he left for Battalion. Your face was snuggled into the scarf.

The next morning, he found himself watching you while you prayed with the sisters. When Easy was leaving the convent, you kissed the cheeks and the hands of the sisters before climbing into the back of a truck with the rest of your medical team. 

He’d known that you were decorated with four battle stars from your time in North Africa and Italy. You had no regard for your own safety and chose time and again to lay your own life on the line to save someone else’s; he’d heard a story of you driving an ambulance through a bombardment. They’d transferred you to England when they needed more experienced nurses in preparation for Overlord. 

You earned two more battle stars on your jacket for Normandy and Market Garden. He knew that Winters was pushing recommendations for a medal for your actions in Bastogne, hiking in supplies to the besieged town with a handful of others, or at the very least a field commission after you took a truck to the line in Noville, where Speirs had first encountered you. 

You’d remained kind through all the action and death that you’d seen and it made Ron’s appreciation for you grew. 

(Was it appreciation or admiration? Admiration or desire? Desire or lust? Lust or love? He didn’t know. Not yet.)

When Easy rolled into Haguenau, you spent your time running back and forth between the medical camp where you were on a 72 hour shift in the surgery tents and running medical supplies to the CP and OPs. 

He found you there, after a mortar shelling, kneeling beside a far too still body covered in fresh blood with eyes staring blankly up at the sky. A crate of medical supplies sat next to you.

You smiled up at him sadly, writing the name down in your little notebook with the day’s date. “Do you have the time, sir?”

He looked at his watch, “1958. Call it 2000 hours.” He saw you nod, jotting down the time. You sighed, stowing the notebook and pencil away into one of many pockets, taking his tag. You closed the man’s eyes, crossing yourself as you stood. You were exhausted, dark circles under your eyes evident even in the growing dark. Ron walked with you as you left the body. It’d be retrieved for burial under the cover of darkness. You passed the tag to him.

He fished his pack of cigarettes out of his pocket, offering one to you. The normal snark of you hating the flavor Lucky’s was missing. You took it without a word, digging out your lighter. It sparked, but wouldn’t catch. He dug out his and offered you a light. The flame lit up your face in the grey dusk. He lit his own cigarette and stood with you in silence.

“You need to sleep.” He said. 

You nodded, “I know.” 

Ron was silent, watching you from the corner of his eye. “There’s bunks with fresh sheets at CP.” When you didn’t respond, Ron tried something else. 

“There’s a room at CP with a single bed. I’ll make sure it’s known to be yours.” It was technically his. He’d claimed it when he first arrived. He’d give it up for the night to you. That got you to smile, even if it was a bitter one and you shook your head. 

Ron cut off any protest. “You need sleep.” He reiterated. You nodded, too tired to argue further. 

He made sure you got up the stairs to the room back at CP and he had to repress a smile when you were out like a light as soon as you hit the mattress. 

Later that night, when he received confirmation that the patrol had returned, Ron found himself standing outside the door. It was his quarters; he could have walked right in. But Ron knocked. 

He knocked. He knocked, and he knocked and he knocked and he knocked until the door opened. It was the middle of the night. 

“Captain Speirs?” You were half awake and bleary eyed. You were bundled up snuggly in your jacket, scarf wrapped around your neck. It was wrapped like how he had done it weeks ago. A blanket was draped around your shoulders. “Sir? Are you hurt?”

He shook his head. You looked puzzled. “I’m sorry if this comes across as rude, sir, but why did you wake me up if you’re not injured?.” Your voice grew bitter from being woken up so early. 

Ron stepped through the door, forcing you to move to the side as he spun around and closed the door. He leaned against it for a moment. You were silent. He was silent. The only sound was the air in his lungs and yours, and the sound of guns still firing outside. 

“Ron?” Your hand was gentle on his shoulder. Concern was rife in your voice now. “Are you alright?” 

“There was a patrol for prisoners. There was one casualty. Jackson, he was only twenty.” He said quietly. Your murmured ‘shit’ expressed exactly how he felt about it.

You stayed silent through his tirade, sitting down on the bed. The springs creaked under your weight. Silence reigned supreme again. Ron sighed, turning to lean against the dresser across from the bed.

“Why did you come to me?”

Because he trusted you. 

Because your presence was a balm to the violence in his soul. 

Because he needed gentleness in his life. 

Because you made him burn as if he was Icarus too close to the sun. Like a moth drawn to a flame.

All these things his mind whispered to him. It’d been that way since he saw you hold the hand of a dying replacement, a kid of only nineteen, telling that boy that it was all going to be alright and he was doing just fine as you pet his hair. The poor He had thought that your kindness didn’t belong in war; but he craved it like a drunk craved alcohol, like a smoker craved nicotine. 

He got a taste of it when you shared those damn chocolate orange sticks with the men when the mail had caught up after Noville and after just one moment of being on the receiving end, he wanted more of it. He wanted you. It’s why he gave you the scarf, why he split his cigarette rations with you.

He wanted you.

When Ron opened his mouth to say that, to say anything to tell you how much he craved you, nothing came out. He could only say, “You know why.” The look that came across your face told him all he needed to know. You knew. 

His heart pounded in his chest and a syrupy feeling filled his body. You knew. He stared at you, and you stared back. His heart pounded in his chest like he was going into combat.

It’d been building for a long time; the flame growing from embers since that moment in the convent when he’d warmed your hands between his. The last bridge, that final threshold, was something that was begging to be crossed. It was something that wanted to be burned. It was fraternization in the ranks now that he was your unofficial CO; a whole lot of hell would come down on both his and your heads if it was found out. His mother always said Ron would always do things the hard way. The smart thing to do would be to leave, to let this be, to hope it would burn out.

That didn’t stop him from crossing the distance between to kiss you. It didn’t stop you from responding to him, wrapping your arm around his neck and curling a hand into his hair. He kissed you again and again and again and again. You whined into him, the blanket falling off your shoulders as you pressed closer to him. Ron took it all. He unwrapped the scarf from your neck, tossing it behind him. He pushed you down into the mattress, leaving your mouth to work his teeth against your neck. 

He felt you pulling at the buckle of his webbing and pushing the straps from his shoulders. He shrugged it off, not caring where it landed as he gripped your leg to hook over his hip. He felt your gasping breath on his ear as he pressed closer into you, crowding you. You used his scarf to pull his face closer to your neck, offering it up to him like it was on a silver platter. When Ron felt cold air through his shirt, he realized that you’d pulled open his jacket while he’d gotten lost in the sensation of you under him. That too went to the floor with no care when he rocked his hips into you. 

He grunted, not finding the friction he was after until he lifted your other leg, leaving him completely on top of you. With both your legs around his waist, he finally found the friction he wanted between your legs; he rocked into the cradle of your thighs, huffing against your throat. You squeaked, wiggling in his arms when he ground into you hard. 

You grunted when you rocked up into him, keening when he caught against you just right. Your hand gripped his thigh, scratching against his pants. He pulled back to kneel down on the floor, pulling your boots off so he could get your pants off. You pulled your belt open, fumbling with the buckle before shucking off your pants yourself. You hadn’t had a chance to take the pants in, so they easily slid off over your hips. He took over when your pants got past your hips, pulling them and the GI issued underwear off, taking your socks with them. You shivered, squirming as you fought against your jacket. It flew over his head, followed by your shirt. 

Ron took hold of your knees, pulling you to the edge of the bed. You hissed when your bare feet touched the cold floor, and he murmured an apology under his breath, throwing your legs over his shoulders. He kissed up from your knees, alternating between one leg and the other until he reached your apex. You squirmed, foot against his back and a hand running through his hair. You sat up, supporting yourself with your free hand and looked down at him.

He was on his knees before you; He wouldn’t kneel for God but he’d get on his knees for you. He growled, pressing his face into you as he pinned your hips to the bed. Hair tickled his face as he used his fingers to part you, sucking and licking as his eyes rolled back. You gasped, hand tightening in his hair when he licked at your clit. He got lost in you then. He didn’t know how long he was like that, until he felt you trying to urge him away. 

He pulled away to nip at your fingers when he felt your hand under his jaw. You jumped and Ron pinned your hips down again, going back to what he had been doing. He felt your legs tremble against his back as you bit back whimpers. You pulled on his hair sharply and his hips bucked against nothing. You tried to pull him away again and Ron got an idea into his head. 

He nipped your fingers again, and reburied his face into your cunt, working double time. As soon as he felt you shake, heard your whimpers turning into keens he stopped entirely. He retreated down to your thighs, listening and smiling as you let out frustrated sounds after being denied an orgasm. 

Ron sucked the skin of your thigh into his mouth, not releasing it until there was a coppery tang on his tongue. He repeated this until there were several wet marks on both your thighs. You’d stopped shaking by the time he was done. He kissed your knee before he sat on the bed, pulling his boots and socks off. He felt you press against his back, kissing at the back of his neck. 

He groaned, head dropping down when your lips met that one spot on his neck that had always made him go crazy. He worked at his belt, the buckle jingling as he undid the buttons of his fly, shucking off his pants and skivvies in one go. He stood abruptly, turned and found you staring at him, sitting up on your knees, biting at your lip. 

Ron couldn’t help reaching out to touch your cheek, gentle for the first time since this had ignited. You leaned into the touch, kissing his palm and your hand forming a gentle hold on his wrist. Ron again marveled at how small your hands were compared to his; your hand didn’t even wrap fully around his wrist. 

He kissed you again; sweetly, slowly. 

Your free hand traced a pattern on his hip bone before closing around his cock. He hissed at your cold hand, head falling back as you pumped your hand, thumb stroking over the head of his cock. You shuffled forward, sitting on the edge of the bed now. Ron growled when he felt your hot mouth descend on him. 

He ran the hand on your cheek up through your hand, carefully working through tangles. He looked down, watching as you took him down your throat. His eyes rolled back as he breathed hard, resisting the urge to thrust. Your head bobbed up and down, sucking harder and harder with every pass, taking him into your throat intermittently. Heat licked up his spine and he came with a grunt, filling your mouth. You choked, pulling off of him with a sputter. Ron didn’t realize he’d closed his eyes until he blinked, looking at you to find you licking his spend from your lips. 

The white was a stark contrast to the pink of your mouth. He just came but Ron felt himself twitching, arousal settling in his being again. 

He pushed you back, the springs in the mattress creaking as he climbed on top of you. He kissed you, tasting himself in your mouth and he rutted between your legs. You gasped, arms wrapping around his torso as he made a home for himself in your thighs. He rocked against you as his erection grew, exchanging panting kisses with you and pawing at your body like a teenager. When he was ready again, and went to enter you, Ron stopped.

“Shit.” He didn’t have a condom. He pushed himself up onto his elbows over you. “Fuck, we’re going to have do this differently. I don’t have a condom.” You’d be discharged if you became pregnant. He’d heard the rumors and stories of nurses being discharged and sent back home if they got married or became pregnant. He didn’t want to think about you being forced to go back to the States. 

“I don’t care.” Your hands took hold of his hips, pulling him back. You kissed at his neck. “It’s okay.”

Ron shook his head. “No, listen-” He growled, your nails were digging into his ass cheeks with a vengeance. 

“Ron, please.” You were begging and desperate, ‘please’ being kissed into his skin. You were so warm and wet where his cock was pressed that his brain short-circuited. 

He groaned, pulling your head back to kiss you. He’d just have to pull out and finish himself off with his hand. Ron took himself in hand, seeking out your entrance. You jerked up when he made contact and Ron thrusted in. You were keening loudly and Ron had to cover your mouth with his hand. He grunted, working his way inside until he couldn’t go any further. You were so goddamn wet. 

When you quieted down, he removed his now shaking hand. You were biting your lip again, face blissed out. You whimpered out exactly how he felt. 

“Fuck.”

He reached down, taking hold of your thigh and hitched it higher on his hip. You let out a breath, a slight tremble to your hand as you ran it up his back. Ron thrust into you hard, eyes rolling back. You choked on a sound, bucking up and your nails digging into his back. He set a hard pace, not caring to work up to it. The real thing was better than anything his mind had conjured of you. He pressed frantic kisses to whatever part of you he could reach; your chest, your face, your shoulders, your neck. 

Anything to show you the words he couldn’t make his mouth say. Your breaths were shaky, hitching and gasping as he tore you apart with a rough pace and burning touches.

Ron couldn’t get close enough to you. He pressed closer to you, leaving as little room between the two of you as he could. You said his name, scratching at his back all the while. You keened suddenly, shaking. He felt you convulse and flutter when the orgasm he’d denied you when he knelt between your legs finally washed over you. You let out a low moan half muffled into his skin, sweat on your brow. You were slicker afterwards, and he cursed. You gasped, twitching against him. He kissed you again, nipping at your lips.

He growled against your mouth, thrusting into you harder. Ron kept rocking against you breathing hard as he felt his muscles contract and heat licked up his spine. Not wanting it to end too soon for his liking, Ron stopped moving entirely, bracing himself above you and his face pressed against the side of your face, breathing against your ear. He heard you hiss, scratching at his back and bucking up from under him to get him to move. 

He held fast, pinning your hips down again. He knew he was gripping your hips too hard, he knew he was, but he didn’t let up on his grip. You were making frustrated little noises in the back of your throat and Ron shushed you, petting your hip with his fingers. 

“Not yet.” He panted. “Not yet.”

You didn’t stop making those frustrated noises. Pulling his head up to look at you, he found that you had an incensed expression, like you were deeply offended that he’d stopped moving. Your nails dug sharply in his back. 

“Ron.” You hissed with clenched teeth. “Move goddammit.”

Ron smiled sharply, nipping at your jaw. “No.” He breathed. You planted your feet on the bed and bucked up from under him. Hard. He grunted, shifting his weight. You did it again. 

He knew you were trying to dislodge him, trying to take your own pleasure into your own hands when he was being stubborn. Ron kissed you again, all aggression and clacking teeth. You managed to slip onto your side, dislodging him from his place on top of you and inside of you. You were attempting to get him under you. He wrestled with you until he had you pinned completely on your side, his leg on top of one of yours and your other leg hitched over his hip, his arm holding yours to your side. His cock rested wetly on your thigh. He was so hard that it hurt, the tussle for dominance had aroused him further. Looking down, he was flushed darkly from head to base.

He breathed hard and stared at your eyes. Your hair was a tangled mess, the braid it had been in now loose. He kissed you again, gentler than previous, hand coming up to cradle your cheek. You whimpered against his mouth, rocking against him. 

“Please.” You mumbled, tongue licking at his lips. “Please.”

“Alright.” He whispered, gripping himself to catch against you, thrusting hard when he found you wetter than you had been previously. He grunted, hand once again gripping your hip with bruising strength. He didn’t stop moving this time. He kept thrusting, kept moving against you. You were breathing hard, twitching again in his arms. Your hips rocked against his. He watched as your eyes grew hazy. You gasped, mouth open as you reached another orgasm. 

Ron thought that your back would be permanently curved as your nails dug into and scratched at his back. He lifted your knee higher on his hip. Your head rested against his shoulder, he felt your eyelashes flutter against his skin.

“Look at me.” He said, trying to nudge your head back. “Look at me.” He said again, firmer and more strained. Ron growled when he saw your eyes finally, a fucked-stupid look in them and your face damp from sweat. 

He pressed his forehead to yours, staring at you. “You’re going to do that again, yeah?” You whined, head rolling back. 

“Please.”

“You’re going to do that again.” He insisted, kissing your throat as he slipped a hand between your bodies, finding your clit wet and set to rubbing fast circles on it. You jolted, keening. “Come on. You can do it. One more.”

You sobbed, gripping his wrist. He stopped thrusting and stopped his hand. He took your hand, squeezing it. He kissed your cheek softly. “One more. Just one more.” He whispered. He rocked into you, slowly, dragging back out and rocking in again. You sobbed again, lips quivering as your leg twitched over his hip. “Just one more.”

“Ron.” 

He urged you onto your back again, settling on his knees between your spread legs. He pet your hair out of your face, kissing your cheek as he started stroking your clit again. Your hand shook in his as you breathed hard, stomach flexing with each touch he made. He kissed the tips of your fingers, letting you squeeze his hand as you reached the third orgasm he had insisted on. He hummed, leaving your clit alone to stroke over your hip as you sobbed, bucking and twitching. Your leg wouldn’t stop shaking. 

Ron laid down on his side once more, missing the cradle of your thighs but knowing it was safer this way since he’d forgotten a condom, taking himself in hand. You rolled over, pressing against him and wrapping your hand around his as you kissed him lazily.

Ron growled, guiding your hand and his into a rough pace. He huffed against your mouth, biting at your lip. You squeaked and squeezed your hand over his. He growled again, eyes rolling back when he finally came in long spurts on both your hands and the bed sheets. He breathed hard, slowly releasing his grip on himself. You kissed him again, softly.

Eventually, Ron sat up with his back against the headboard and you curled up against his side with his arm over you. The blanket was draped over both of you. Ron lit a cigarette, taking a drag. He blew smoke out of his lungs, watching as it swirled through the air. You looked up at him, cheek against his chest; the movement made him tilt his head to look at you. You licked your lips and his eyes followed the movement. You brought his hand to your lips, pressing kisses to his knuckles. Your lips were chapped but these were the softest kisses he’d ever received. 

His fingers interlaced with your own. You breathed deeply, snuggling further against his side. 

Ron again marveled at how small your hands were compared to his. He decided then, as you drifted off, that he wasn’t going to leave. It’d start several dozen rumors, he knew that (soldiers were worse gossips than old ladies at a hair salon), but he found that he just didn’t care. 

He wasn’t going to leave this bed.


End file.
